


Ghost

by QuinsQuins



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Losers Clud(IT), Angst, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Gen, Ghosts, Losers Club Friendship(IT), Richie Tozier Has Powers, Richie Tozier is a dumbass, Some bullying, Stanley Uris Lives, Try at Humor, but so is eddie, ooooooo, richie is gay and stupid, supernatural!Richie Tozier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:47:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23180413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuinsQuins/pseuds/QuinsQuins
Summary: Richie turns to Bill, face collected while his insides urge for him to start clawing his eyes out, and restfully whispers a name that makes the whole rooms atmosphere turn a chilling cold.“That’s not funny, Rich.” Beverly says, taking her comforting hand off of the comedians back.Richie grits his teeth“ Does it look like I’m fuckin’ laughing?.”
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Mike Hanlon & Beverly Marsh, Mike Hanlon & Bill Denbrough, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris & Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak
Comments: 2
Kudos: 75





	Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> hey!!!! im not dead, but im not working on any other writings that i should be so....have this!!! :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Death was a touchy subject amongst the losers club- they’d been surrounded by it their entire lives. Be it family, friends, brothers, sisters, each loser has encountered death and each one knows the empty feeling that plagues their stomachs when the ringing of church bells at a funeral knocks the breath out of their lungs.  
No one liked death, but the losers hated the word with such an intense, burning passion that they'd immediately shun anyone who even so much as rolled their eyes at the word...which made Richie Tozier’s situation a whole lot more complicated.

From a young age, the boy knew he was always going to be different. He had to wear glasses, he had buck teeth, he made inappropriate jokes, he liked…boys...but, what really pointed him out from the rest, was that he could see people that weren’t there. Ghosts, actually.  
He could speak to them, ask about their day, and sometimes make them disappear.   
Only, they would never come back.

When Richie finally learned the basis of heaven, or hell, he understood the strange phenomenon. He just had to make sure not to get angry and accidentally send someone off where they weren’t supposed to- and vice versa for those who he at first thought were good. Which, if anyone outside of Richie’s mind knew, would think to be the easiest part but, no. Deciding whether a being goes to where is the basis of their life.  
For example, Richie once met a man by the name of Robert Gray. He had an overly large forehead with a hairline that seemed to be shorter daily. His teeth were bucked, like Richie’s, but in a way that looked like he’d just been pulled out of a cartoon- a Bugs bunny cartoon. Robert wasn’t a very nice man, he often snuck up on Richie when he was alone in his room, and always tried to touch him with ghastly hands covered in muck and fingernails caked under with dirt. Of course, no ghost could touch a living being without consent- or possess one, as Richie comes to find out later- and this made Robert angry.  
The ghost started to threaten his family, and his friends. Whispering into Richie’s ear, while he was at school, the awful things he would do to them. How he would touch and hurt them like all the other’s he did to before. Holding it above the young boy's head that it would be his fault. All. his. fault.

Richie didn’t banish him before, because he believed the man was just scared, and needed a way to express it...no matter how bad.But after finding an old newspaper clipping about children going missing, He sent him away then and there.  
No hesitation.

He never met any more ‘horribly memorable’ ghosts, after that. And continued to talk to the ones he thought deserved their time at rest. Leading him to earn, and lose, many friends along the way but, he never cried over it. And would always send them away with a sorrowful smile.

His parents soon became suspicious of him. Convinced he was going through a phase- or one of those things young children did to scare their parents- but when he never stopped speaking to thin air, they got worried.

Richie remembers waking up early one morning, his parents were taking him to the nice hospital because he was ‘sick’, and being left in a sterilized white room with a nice young lady dressed like a librarian, and then the doctor. He was asked a multitude of questions- Do you see people who aren't there? Do you talk to yourself? Do you hear voices? Have these voices ever told you to hurt yourself?- that the nice librarian lady helped him answer because his six year old mind was too wired on ten hours of sleep to pay attention.  
The doctor handed him a lemon lollipop- it was his favorite color- and left the room to ‘have grown up talk’ with his parents. That meant he had been left alone with the librarian lady- her name was Barb- who kept him distracted by reciting to him stories she used to read to the children that visited her library.

‘ and the prince, and his princess, lived happily ever after. The end.’

‘ But what about the prince’s knight?’

‘ what about him, my dear?’

‘ Did he ever get a happy ending?’

‘ Well, i'm not sure darling...the book never said...’

‘ What? Everyone deserves a happy ending! Why couldn’t the knight stay with the prince and princess?’

‘ Because the prince loved the princess, Richie. They were meant to be together.’

‘ The knight protected the prince! The knight loved him, too!’

‘ I’m afraid the prince didn’t feel the same way, Richie…’

‘ But...but that's not fair....’

‘ Shh, I know, honey..It’s okay. Lifes not fair in the slightest and, I know you may be too young for this lesson, but not every story can end with a happy ending...Not every prince gets their princess...and not every knight can protect their prince.’

‘....did you ever get your happy ending, B?’

‘...Yes, I did...once upon a time ago.’

Richie never got the chance to hear what happened to Barb- his doctor had cleared him and took him back to his parents- but that was the day he learned to be more careful with the knowledge he had.  
He stopped talking to the no seeing people around his parents, learning instead to ignore them, never spoke of the private conversations he had with certain ghosts, and stopped bringing it up all together around his friends. Earning him a few comments that they thought he wouldn’t hear.

‘ I’m glad he’s finally decided to drop his imaginary friend phase- that was getting annoying.’

‘ Yeah, and weird, too. He would always talk as if they were actual people.Even try to invite them to the club house.’

‘ Well that's just freaking crazy trashmouth, for you,’

That was about around the time they all started seeing the clown. And, even though Richie had seen It, too, he always denied it. Scared the losers were playing a trick on him just to call him crazy and make his parents send him back to the hospital.

So, doing the one thing he was good at, he deflected the situation with his humor. Happy that the losers only ‘beeped’ at him when he went too far instead of shoving their fingers into the side of his head, screaming ‘crazy! Crazy! The Tozier boy is crazy!’ In a little rhythmic childish tune  
Betty Rimpson had come to him late one night to tell him he shouldn’t think so low of his friends for telling the truth, but he ignored her and pretended to be asleep until she left through his window with a huff.

‘To this day he still feels bad for never laying her to rest.’

When Georgie died, Richie for sure thought he would spot the yellow rain jacket walking behind Bill sooner or later, but he never did. Georgie died in the sewers, and the only time Richie ever saw him again was when all the losers gathered to go save Beverly together.  
They could all see him, and they all watched Bill shoot him with an imaginary finger gun. All of them turned out a little more than ‘normal’, after that. 

But no one made fun of Richie when he began to talk to the ghosts again. They even encouraged it with curious questions and invitations to bring them on their next hangout. Never once threatening to tell his parents or poke fun at him.

One day, Richie brought up Barb’s name to Ben while they were hanging in the club house.

‘ She was really nice, and read to me stories she used to read to her own children, do you think there's some history about her somewhere?’

‘ Probably, what's her last name?’

‘ Kellie.’

‘ I’ll see what I can do.’

He doesn’t regret wanting to find out Barb’s story, how she died, but it would haunt him forever. Make his stomach swirl dangerously every time he sees a woman dressed in a moss green cardigan and faded brown dress pants.

Ben pulled him aside after school weeks later to tell him Barb kellie was a witch in the 1700’s that had been accused of kidnapping little boys- preferably the ones whose parents were never around- to be chopped up and used as ingredients in her ‘spells’.   
They executed her- on the field of which the hospital now resides- before checking her cabin in the woods, and discovered all the little boys she’d ‘kidnapped’ were safe and sound in hand made cotton beds, wondering and asking ‘when the nice lady would come back and read them a bedtime story.’

Richie was never the same after that...but, before he could be apprehended by his friends, his parents had already up and fucked their lives to a whole new state.  
Where he forgot those six kids ever existed, and ignored the string of men and women that spoke to him who no one else could see.

From then on, he lived his life. 

Richie never went to college- despite the fact he made perfect grades- and ended up getting booked for comedy shows by the time he was twenty one. Telling his own jokes, earning money, then telling someone else’s jokes, and earning even more money.  
His life was a circle.

Until, he got that fateful phone. The one that brought him back to Derry, reminded him of the clown, and brought back all past trauma that had been locked away for the past twenty seven years. Reminded him of Barb..  
It was only because of that factor, that the losers were able to kill the dreaded clown once and for all with only minor scrapes and bruises as their trophies.

And that's where his story really starts to begin... Sitting on an old couch in the Derry, Maine town house where he used to sit and smoke on the steps.   
But, this time, he’s not alone.

The losers are with him now....and even a few old ‘friends’...

~~~  
6:03 PM  
Thusrady, September 12th, 2016.

Richie flicks away the dried shell of an empty peanut, he’d found it when digging through the townhouse couch cushions, as Bev and Ben clank together glasses of vodka behind him. They giggle like little school girls when some of the liquid splashes on to the counter- snorting and covering their mouths as if it was some hilarious joke- before downing the straight vodka ‘victory shots’ like it was water.   
It makes Richie’s insides feel like they’re about to drain right out of his ass. He slouches down into his seat with an unseeing stare on his face, thinking. A tight fist perched on the armrest.

The peanut shell he flicked lands inches away from a pair of black combat boots that have seen better days...but, so has the owner.

Patrick Hockstetter, young with a decaying face, glances down at the shell. His nose wrinkles in boredom as he easily crushes it beneath one of the boots, and pale hands find their way into a pair of soggy, ripped jeans pockets. Not caring that the small pieces would be a bitch to clean from between the cracks.

Richie sighs while wiping a hand down his sweaty face.” come on, man..” He says it so tiredly, like a parent who's finally given up, that the two losers behind him freeze momentarily- thinking he was talking to them- before downing their drinks when the man stayed silent. 

Patrick tries to smirk but it comes out looking like snarl that makes Richie’s stomach do backflips. He grimaces at the dead boy, folding his hands into his lap.   
Patrick rolls his white eyes and cooly leans back onto the wall behind him. Leveling a look with Richie by raising his destroyed chin up at the man.” What’re you gonna do about it, fag? Kill me?” He jokes, insultingly.” I should make you come over here and lick it up, yourself...Save the cleaning lady some trouble.”  
Richie, unamused, props his elbow onto the armrest and lays his cheek against a closed fist.

“ That would be nice- if I was hungry, and you were alive- but I think I’ll pass.” He looks down at what was once a peanut shell, now crushed to dust, and wrinkles his lips.” Plus I don’t think this place even has an owner to hire a cleaning lady. Just pictures of beavers and old men above my bed.”

“ Bet you jerk off to it, Bucky Beaver.” Patrick snickers, playing with the disconnected joint of his middle finger by popping it in and out of place.” Sounds like your kind of thing.”

Richie shows Patrick his own middle finger.” Oh, Haha, very funny, you fucking Edward sissor hands zombie.” Richie mocks. He hoists himself up from the couch with a grunt. His back popping loudly.” oh boy, that didn’t sound good.” 

Patrick pushes off from the wall to stand by Richie’s side.” You need me to get your walker, Grandpa?” His skinny, dead flesh hanging off the bone, arms come up to cross over his chest.” Or should I give the retirement home a call before you go senile from talkin’ to me?”

“ You say that as if I’ll live long enough to even be put in a retirement home.” Richie groans while stretching his back.” I’ve been smoking since I was twelve, my diet consists of nothing but beer, and I already had my ‘celebrity cocaine phase’.” He walks off, Patrick follows him, to the bar with an aching arm being popped above his head.” By the time I’m fifty one, my body will be spent.” He clicks his tongue at Patrick with a wink. Finger guns held up to his chest.

The dead boy purses his lips.” And you want it that way?”

“ Well, yeah. Dying beats livin’ out a life of apples and flintstone vitamins. I’m a Paula Dean type of gale, not a Rosina Pansiono.”

Patrick mouthed out a question to himself, but shook it off and directed himself back to Richie .“ Isn’t Paula Dean a racist?” He asks it as if he’s never done a racist thing in his life, and that makes the comedian’s stomach burn.

Richie hums “ Yeah, but after eating food with a pound of butter in it, she’ll probably die soon.” He turns to Patrick with a mocking crazed smile- the tips of his bucky teeth peeking out from behind chapped lips.” That’s how natural selection works.”

“ You’re a weird fucking dude, beaver.”

“ I try my best!”

“ That wasn’t a compliment.” 

Richie pulls out a stool, ignoring the questionable brow Beverly was giving him, and graciously accepts the shot of the cheap vodka Ben set in front of him. He waits for Beverly and Ben to fill their glasses, takes part in clinking them in a three way triangle, and then throws his head back to swiftly down the poison.  
Patrick watches them, awkwardly standing behind Richie- his posture slumped- with envy swimming in his blank eyes. Richie looks him up and down, gives a funny side smile, and downs another shot. This time sipping it every few seconds.

Now, it may have tasted like absolute ass, but the way it burned his throat satisfied the growing pain in the back of his head that was the dead boy. He had forgotten how much hatred was harbourded for the young man since leaving Derry but, now after remembering it all, the emotions flooded back in like waves of static and broken glass.

Across from his seat, an uncomfortable looking Ben grabs the comedian's attention by covering his mouth with a fist and grunting.

Richie raises his head from looking down at the glass- completely unbothered- and turns his ear to imply he was listening.

Ben tightens his lips, sweating.”...Who’ve you been talking to, this time, Rich?” He looks at Beverly for support.” Is it He….” Beverly shakes her head at Ben’s intended question- mouthing the word ‘no’- as she rests her elbows on the bar.  
“ Are they bothering you?” Her question was directed towards Richie, but she kept her gaze right in front of her. Face blank.

Richie sluggishly looks to Bev. He smacks his lips at the shit earning grin Patrick was giving him, and sighed tiredly.” Nah- not really bothering me...Just being a shit head.” Patrick juts out his hip while watching Richie run his finger around the empty shot glass.” But that's not new.”

“ You know you missed me, trash man. Who else would help Henry kick your asses?” He smiled like a cheshire cat.

“ I killed Henry.” Richie stated, flatly.” And, if you were still alive, I would have killed you too.” He harshly poked at Patricks chest- but to the other losers he was jabbing at thin air- then cringed as it came back covered in dark blood.” Ew, you seriously need a shower, dude. The bloods not really ‘vibing’ with me so well, right now.”

Beside him, Beverly hides her face in her hands with a groan. Richie perks up, wiping the blood on his pants leg, smiling.” What's wrong Bevie? I’m a cool kid now, ya heard? I use all the new, hip, funky language.” Richie sprawls his back onto the bar, facing away from Ben.” I am the OG, I will throw shade, I will defeat your squad with my thicc, with two c’s, as-”

“ Beep, Beep, Richie!” Ben interrupted, covering his ears.” We get it, but please shut up.”

Richie tried to stifle his laughter, but it came out sounding like Marge Simpson choking on a rubber chicken. He banged his fist against the table and pointed to a disappointed looking Patrick.  
“ What's with the sour look, pussy cat?” Beverly uncovered her face to hit Richie on the arm.” Ya miss being alive?”

Randall- as Richie would like to secretly call him- pursed his lips with a pout.

“ Yes.” 

Richie let his smile drop, out of respect, and licked his bottom lip nodding.” huh...well, sorry about that….I guess?” He showed his teeth in a straight clench smile, flinching.” Hope you...get better… soon?”

Beverly let her head fall onto the bar and snorted loudly.” Oh my god, trashmouth, you are the worst.”

Ben shook his head, clearly laughing, but tried his best to keep on a straight fact.” Is this how you act at funerals?”

Richie gave an offended huff, throwing his hands back dramatically.”No!...Well….ah, No!” The fact that he had to stop and think about his answer was what set off another round of gut aching laughter. Tears gathered at the corner of Ben’s reddening eyes as Beverly tried desperately to keep her stool from toppling out beneath her.

“ Why did you have to think about it?!” Beverly gasped through her choked laughter.” Have you actually done that before?” She turned to Richie for an answer, but snorted as the man gaped at her like a fish out of water.” Oh my god, you totally have! Haven’t you!” She accused, slapping her bare palm down on the bar.” Richie! That's terrible!”

Richie hid his embarrassment behind a hand and pulled his shoulders up to his ears.” Well- what am I supposed to say then?! Sorry, you’re dead? Hope hells treating you good? You wanna grab a burger with me after the service?!” Listing off the ridiculous answers gained a small smirk from Patrick, and- somehow- that meant more to him than his two best friends who were literally wheezing at his jokes. He needed another drink. 

Swiveling around on his stool- cursing at the splinters that stuck up into his ass- Richie lunged for the lonely vodka bottle and poured himself a generous bit. “ I panic in situations like that- its fucking stress inducing- I don’t mean to sound like an asshole but,” He waves his hands around arratically in front of him.” I AM an asshole! I’m not good with funerals, I make people laugh for a living!” He downs half the glass in one gulp, gagging, savoring the burn.

“ Do you know how awkward it is to be at a funeral and make a joke that ONLY looks like you’re the one laughing?!?” Richie pounds his fist on his thigh, face flushed red.” Fucking awkward!”

Ben, now leaning on the bar for support, wipes a tear away from his eyes.” That’s the funniest thing I think i’ve heard all night, Rich- why don’t you use this in your show?”

“ Because I don’t want the CIA coming after me, or my manager to put me in a physiatric ward with all the REAL crazies.” Richie knocks back the rest of his drink, then slams it onto the bar with a high pitched ‘fetch me another one, bartender!’. Ben quirks up one side of his mouth and pours the man another drink. He receives a wordless nod, and the three sit in silence as Richie takes a sip of his drink.

“ Think you could share a bit?” Patrick asks, rather bored with watching the man drink as his friends hover near him. The question remains in the air.

Richie wipes his top lip clean, and holds out a single finger while his chest rests against his other arm that's wedged between himself and the bar.” Plus I don’t write my own material, and- even if I did- I think my manager would fire me thinking I was some ‘Dr.Phil show’ worthy weirdo that didn’t get hugged enough as a child.”

Ben and Beverly both winced, but Richie was oblivious to it, and settled their laughter.  
Patrick, who had been impatiently watching the whole ordeal, hid his disfigured hands behind his back and rocked back on the high heeled combat boots. Resulting in a moist ‘squish’ of blood and sewer water.   
Richie shivered at the sound- clenching at his glass.

He could physically feel the atmosphere begin to drop the longer his silence raged on, the anxiety in his body telling him he was starting to become annoying made his spine tingle. He tapped the clear glass with a finger nail and looked around the room before setting on Ben.  
“ Where’re the other guys? This place is like a ghost town now, more than ever, with just us.”

A sensation of a bug crawling at the back of his head made Richie jump slightly in his seat, but when he went to smack at it, his hand came back bloody.   
Patrick chuckled at Richie’s annoyed glare down at the bloody hand.” what's wrong, pussycat?” He mocked, pinching the tip of his nose to make a- rather bad- nasally impression of Richie’s voice.

Richie turned around in his seat to glower at the young man- who was giving him the definition of a joker grin- but said nothing.

Beverly eyed the tension between Richie and the loose air he kept referring to and turned her whole body sideways in the stool seat.” Mike and Bill went to go get us dinner while you were asleep. We tried to wake you up, but Stan said not to,” Richie raised a finger in inquiry, but Bev cut him off “ We voted for anything but chinese.” She gave a reassuring smile.

Richie let his hand flop onto his lap, nodding.” Cool..cool…But, what about Stan? Eddie?”

“ What about us?” 

All three heads at the bar snapped in union to watch as Stan and Eddie both descended the stairs. There are wrinkles all along their shirts, and imprints of pillows were left behind in their skin. Both came to a halt in the doorway.   
Stan ruffled at his bed head while Eddie covered a yawn.

Richie bit his bottom lip, suppressing a smile.” Well, speak of the little devil, and he shall appear..” He turned to Stan with a mischievous gleam in his eye ” Oh,” He breathed, pointing at the man “And I see he also brought his dandelion angel with him.” Richie winked.

Stan’s blank face bloomed into a bright blush, and pale hands ceased their brushing to tame his bed head. Eddie gave the finger.

“ Shut up, asshole.” He lumbered over to the bar, Stan following a second behind him, and practically threw himself down onto the last stool.   
Eddie laid his uninjured cheek down onto the cool bar, and let out a relaxing sigh.” If I knew you’d be a dick- I would have made you piss yourself earlier by putting your hand in warm water.”

“ Aw, “ Richie cooed, throwing an arm over Eddie’s back “ but you didn’t cause you knew it would have revealed your sexual desires to-”

“ Beep! Beep! Richie!” Eddie squalled, his face reddening.” I don’t want to hear about your weird piss kink fantisies right now!”

Richie placed a hand on his chest, offended “ What? You started it! I should be accusing you of having a piss kink! Why else would you have brought it up?” Richie cracked, smiling like a pure jackass. Eddie seemed to have steam billowing out of his ears, but before he could throttle Richie’s neck, he was taken back by a quick kiss on the cheek.

Patrick gags, though it falls on deaf ears.

“ But, that's okay. I’ll still love you even if you get off on making me piss my pants.” His smile warms as he pulls Eddie closer to him.” And you’ll still love me- hopefully- when you find out that I got caught smooching’ a pineapple in a purple bikini at an SNL after party, in 2002, by TMZ. My lips were swollen for weeks.”

Eddie’s anger faded while Richie spoke- clenched hands, ready to choke him, falling back onto the bar- but the last part made him cock his head.” You did what?”  
Richie widened his eyes in an attempt at showing shock, but it just made Eddie laugh.

“ Oops, did I say that out loud?” Richie places two fingers on his lips. Partially covering up the smirk like he was a southern Belle, in the movies, that just witnessed her husband cheating on her. Down to the wide whites of his eyes and all.

Eddie pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling while shaking his head.” You’re one weird dude, Trashmouth.”

Richie gave a toothy smile and lightly bobbed his head.” I try my best.”  
Patrick groaned.”Fuckin fags...If this shit gets anymore sappy, trees might start to fucking grow out of your ears!”

Richie cranked his neck to look back at the rotting corpse standing by Stan and fiercely pointed at him.” Shut the fucking up you 2012 Macaulay Culkin looking bitch, I can send you straight to hell if I really try.”

Stan looked at the others like a deer caught in headlights. He followed Richie’s accusing finger to the space beside him, then looked back at his friend sheepishly. “ But...I didn’t say anything.” His voice was timid as he spoke, and Beverly gave him a look of sympathy for it. 

Breathing hard, Richie relaxes his arm “ Sorry, Stan.” He looks down at the old floorboard, then back up.” I was talking to him.” Richie gestures his head to the space beside Stan, eyebrows raised, and gives an apologetic smile when his friend's eyes light up in realization.

“ Oh,” Stan looks next to him and takes a step away, causing Richie to snort.” Is it one of your little ghost buddies?”

Patrick gives Richie a deadpanned look.” The jew called me an ‘it’.” He states, flatly, crossing his arms.

Richie ignores the teen, and boredly rolls his eyes while picking at something in his teeth “ No, not a buddy, per say….” Richie licks the inside of his mouth, sucking on the spot he was picking at. “-more like an annoying fly, really.” He levels his gaze with Patrick “ A Karl Grimes bitch.” 

“ Fuck you.” Patrick spits, giving Richie a full view of his crooked middle finger.” I outta fucking pull a ‘Night of the Demon’ on your Suzanne ass.” He smiles with equally crooked teeth.” Help you gain back your lost ‘masculinity’, you fairy.” 

“ That's not possible.” Richie responds back, chillingly, his tone turning serious.” You can’t do that without my permission.” Patrick gives him a dumb look that makes him sigh, annoyed “ Meaning I would have to physically consent to you, dumbass.” Richie grits his teeth, but the soft squeeze of Eddie’s hand on his biceps calms him a bit. Stan takes another step away from Patrick and ends up beside Eddie’s back.  
Richie slouches against the bar, eyes closing, then opening with a smile “ - not the other way around- you see, cause I’m like you,” He brings a finger to his template and taps it once.

Patrick swallows thickly as Richie’s eyes flash a lemony yellow.” ... dead?’

Richie lets his eyes return to their normal warm brown- or, in the losers case, soften- smirking. “  
No, not dead-” He falters at the paleness of Eddie’s face “- just, ah,” Richie thinks for a second, scratching at his chin, then smacks his palm to the side of his head “ a wizard!” He snaps his fingers. A goofy smile slips onto his skin, and the last of a bitter cold in puppy dog, brown eyes melts into a warm fire.  
Beverly bites her lip, and flashes Ben a worried look behind the comedian's back.

He doesn’t tell anyone he’s got eyes in the back of his head. Smiling wider.

Zombie boy takes a step back, his fear masked by stupid defyance, then leaves the room without another word. The hollow thump of his combat boots turning muffled while he walks up carpeted steps.  
Richie leans forward on his stool to watch the boy climb, and cups his hands around his mouth.” If you get any blood on my bed I’ll bump your trip to hell up a week earlier!”

Patrick doesn’t turn around, but he doesn’t give the middle finger either. Richie only relaxes back into his seat when the boy disappears beyond the hotel door without even opening it. How most apperistions enter in cliche movies.

Stan, having followed Richie’s gaze, looks back down at the man with furrowed brows, “ Do you know who they are?” He twiddles his fingers. “ They were?” Eddie looks at Richie like he also wants to ask a question, but refrains when the muscles beneath his hand contract.

“Yeah.” Richie simply answered, shrugging his shoulders. He kept his stagnant gaze with Stan for a solid thirty seconds, before failing to elaborate more about the ghost- who no one else can see- and turned back to talk with an equally confused Eddie. 

The accountant shares a worrisome look with both Ben and Bev. He scratches at his shoulders to relieve some of the uncomfortableness squirming under his skin, but stops as the sight of Bev’s threatening stare.  
His lips retract into his dry mouth. He stares directly at the trash months back, the need to ask more questions tingling on the tip of his tongue overwhelming.

Ben saves him by offering a drink, and he accepts it gratefully. 

It’s another hour of supple jokes and quiet conversations when the townhouse doors open.

Each loser turns to the door with smiles on their faces as the last two members come walking in with bags of takeout food hanging from their arms. Mike flashes an award winning smile. He sets his bags beside Beverly- Bill scoots around Ben behind the bar to set his load in front of Stan- and side hugs her happily. 

“ Hey mike.” Bev pats the tall man's back tenderly “ Get into any trouble.” She lets Mike pull out of her grasp and looks him up and down at arm's length. It had only been two hours since they had last spoken, but it felt like a lifetime after the bonds they forged wrapped tighter around their hearts.  
Mike cupped Bev’s freckled cheek and gave her a soft kiss and rubbed his thumb softly over the pale skin.” No trouble for me, Mrs.Marsh. Not for another twenty seven years..” He smiled, but there was a hidden sadness behind it that made Beverly’s eyes sting.

She pulled Mike back into a tighter hug, and didn’t let go until the soft tremors of his shoulders disappeared.

The other losers watched them in anticipation. Their hearts also throbbed with the need to comfort a friend, but each knew deep down that Mike deserved a more tender touch at the moment, and let the feeling simmer.

~~~~

Their dinner that night shares a lot of qualities with the reunion at ‘The Jade of Orient’, minus the cursed fortune cookies and strange phone call saying that Stanley was dead, and they eat and drink like there's no tomorrow.

All seven losers are spread out in the townhouse common area. Richie and Eddie bicker back and forth on the couch with poor Stanley sitting beside them just trying to enjoy his dinner. Mike and Bill are on the edges of their reclining chairs, deep in conversation about books and the genres they enjoyed.   
Beverly sits on the last remaining love seat- which she had offered to Ben, but the man declined- with said man at her feet leaning back against her legs. They are the only ones not engaged in any form of talking, but rather sit in a comfortable silence with Beverly running her hands through Ben’s hair as he rests his eyes.

Richie chooses to be the first one to include the whole room with his bostrious voice.” Damn, I'm stuffed..” He sets his plate on the table beside his seat, and slumps down into the couch cushions with his hands on his stomach.” Couldn’t eat another bite- even if Guy Fieri showed up with a whole basket of double chocolate muffins.” Richie groaned as his stomach gave a gurgle, and covered his mouth with a fist to stifle a burp.

Eddie wrinkled up his lips and set his own plate on the table.” That’s disgusting...and why Guy Fieri with muffins? Weren’t you more of a fruity tart kinda guy?” 

Richie barley stopped himself from making a joke off of the tart question- what do you mean ‘were’? I still am- and covered his hesitation with a cough.  
“ I was, until I saw your mom and decided I was more of a cake guy!” Richie wiggled his eyebrows sensually while the others gave varying degrees of disappointed groans.

“ Gross, man.” Eddie playful punched his shoulder “ My mothers fucking dead!”

Richie’s smile dropped. He turned away from Eddie to cover his face, and cried “ Damn...It is a true tragedy that I never got to share one finally muffin with her- a crime to humanity, really. I loved her like my own!” He dragged a hand down to his face and let it form a loose fist over his heart “ Our connection was like no other!”

“ She fucking hated you, dude.”

Richie pushed himself up against the back of the couch, giving Eddie a sly grin,“ Yeah, but that's what made it all more fun.”

Eddie stuck out his tongue and faked gagged “ Beep, Beep, Richie!”

Beverly pulls her hands away from Ben’s hair, watching the two men fight like boys with a supple smile on her face“ You sure you’re full, trashmouth? I still got some rice leftover, if ya want it?” She gestures to the rice left on her plate with a brow raised, “ It’ll go bad if you don’t.”

The comedian looks over at her, lips pursed as he thinks, humming “Hmm….No.” Richie throws an arm over his eyes, turning away “ No, I mustn’t, get it out of my sight before I enter my ‘fat elvis’ phase .” He leans over onto Eddie’s shoulder, arousing a laugh from Stan at the hypochondriac's glare.

He doesn’t push the man off him and chuckles when Richie peaks through his fingers at the offering food. “ I’m afraid it’s too late for that, buddy.” Eddie jokes, slapping the trashmouth reddened stomach- which strangely sounds like someone slamming a microwave door closed- with the palm of his hand.” I’d say you’re already seven months pregnant with a disgusting, grease ball of cheap hamburgers and fries.” 

“ Ooo, spaghetti man, why.” Richie cries, letting himself slide off the couch and onto the floor in a puddle of misery, clutching his stomach.” I’m gonna throw up.” He said, deadpanned, curling into a fetal position with his arms curled around his middle, “ I’m gonna throw up on your shoes, and it's all your fault.” He pouts, jutting out his bottom lip.

Eddie rolls his eyes, “ Quit being such a dramatic baby, and get up off the floor, its fucking filthy.”

Richie sticks out his tongue, “ ‘get off the floor’ ‘ I’m Edward Kasprak’ ‘ I only eat ice’ “ The mocking ends up with Eddie’s foot pushing down on his gut. Richie grunts and uncurls from his scrunched position onto his back. Looking up at the shorter man from the floor makes him smirk, “ Ppft- Now I know what the wife sees when you're topping, you fucking thumb.”

The losers laughed at Eddie’s offended gasp, slapping their knees, and falling back into their seats.   
Bill has to set down his drink before his shakes of giggles threaten to jostle it out of his hand.

“ I look like a thumb?!” Eddie squawks, exasperated, talking with his hands, “ You’re the one whos fucking forehead is the size of the Crimson Chin’s chin! You have no room to talk!” Eddie pointed at Richie with a scolding finger, his face a wrinkled mess of red, but softened when the comedian rolled onto his side to snort. His back now facing the couch.

“ oh! Eddie Kaspbrak gets off a good one!” 

“ Yeah!” Eddie exaggerates, “ And you’re about to get one right up your fucking ass!”

Richie fake gasps with his hands pulling at his cheeks, “ Oh no! Somebody please save me! This man has a foot fetish, too!” Richie smiles cheekily, curling long fingers down his cheeks into fists that push up on his stubled jaw, “ You’re my kinda man, spaghetti.”  
Eddie rolls his eyes with a sigh “ Don’t call me that...and get up, dude, I'm serious about this floor.” He stands up disgruntled and sticks a tongue out at the floor “ I’m pretty sure it hasn’t been cleaned since 1996.”

Richie sighs while propping his hands behind his neck “ I’ll get up when Bill admits his book endings suck-”

“Hey!” 

“- but, until then..” Richie was turning his head to the side when he intentionally cut himself off. The sight of a pair of muddy, blue rain boots standing across from him taking his breath away. He couldn’t see who it was, as the bottom of the top of the table cut off at the ghosts knees, but...he knew.

Richie sits up abruptly making Eddie flinch back and the surrounding losers tense with wide eyes. His burning lungs finally take a waverly inhale at the sight of young boy in a yellow rain jacket- his left arms gone- staring at him with the saddest of dead eyes

His voice shushes to a breathy whisper.

“...Georgie?”

**Author's Note:**

> there may be a chapter two, but that all depends on if i can actually promise you guys that :/ and i don't trust myself so- we'll just have to wait and see!!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, stay safe, and have a good one!!!


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